


Diamonds And Rust

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Afterlife, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gift Work, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, POV Second Person, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Quadrant Confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the afterlife, Nepeta Leijon awakes to find herself sharing a lonely dream bubble with Eridan Ampora.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diamonds And Rust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [placentalmammal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/gifts).



> My Ladystuck present for placentalmammal! The request was for an unexpected pair of characters being forced to rely on each other and bonding together, which was an AWESOME prompt to work with. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (I know the main ship is a little off-putting, but please bear with me!)
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/73967732138/diamonds-and-rust-spockandawe-homestuck-archive-of)

**== > Eridan: Die**

               It takes you way too long to die. You try to beg Kan for help before she goes, but you can’t seem to breathe right an your gills are all flutterin open tryin to breathe water, an all you can do is scrabble weakly at the floor and gasp for air. Every time you look to the side an accidentally catch a glimpse of your legs, your head swims an you think you’re about to be sick, but haha, oh god, that’s probably half a your stomach over there you can’t even manage that right oh god oh god. Kan looks right at you too, that’s the thing. She’s all standin there with a hole right through her guts that you _know_ killed her, and she’s still all walkin and fightin, some kind a fuckin miracle, and you’re just beggin for a little help, and now all she does is look right into your eyes, look at your legs, then sigh an turn away. She just leaves you. You try so hard to scream, but nothing comes out. It takes you way too long to fuckin die.

                When you wake up again, you have to wonder if it was just a dream. If the game was just a dream. You’re on Alternia, that’s the thing, and even if it’s not anywhere you know personally, you’ve been replaying memory after memory of the planet ever since you learned you’d never see it again. It’s a fuckin sight better than the ugly black an white spires of Lowaa, an truth to tell, you’re really hopin with your whole pusher that Sgrub was only a dream you got from sleepin without sopor. It was all real vivid, but daymares always are. Fuckin pan's not doin you a favor, though, tellin you that Kan went an sawed you in half. You poke tentatively at your stomach, but it’s all in one piece. Just a daymare.

                You realize, all a sudden, that it’s still day. Shit shit _shit_ , you’ll fuckin cook sittin out in the sun like this—The only shelter is some kinda cave, but hey, you got your wand, isn’t anything on Alternia as can stand up against power that. No, wait. You don’t have a wand. You strife strictly with rifles, in the grand tradition a your ancestor. There’s nothing as can stand against Ahab’s Crosshairs is what you meant. Right.

                As soon as you’re back in cool, comfortable darkness, you stop to make sure you aren’t burned too awful. You were out there for maybe twenty minutes, your fins’ll be scorched for sure. The medicine’s in your hive, an who knows how far away that is. You can’t even look for the shore until the sun sets, and you really can’t expect a fuckin landdweller to have the kind a medicine a real troll needs. But even when you gingerly prod at your cheeks, the back a your neck, and finally carefully run your claws up your fins, you don’t feel anything wrong. That’s—strange. Maybe it was more overcast then you thought? No chance a goin back there to check, though. That’s one piece a luck you’ve had, no call to be tempting fate a second time.

                You sit there considerin what to do next, but you don’t have many options. When you take out your palmhusk, nobody’s on Pesterchum. That’s not usual, even this time a day. You troll Fef, first off. Then Kar and Kan, even needle Sol a bit just cause you know it annoys him. The lack a answers is really gettin to you, though, and you finally decide that you’ll just get a little rest, even without sopor. It’s a true fact that as dramatic an imposin as your cape is in person, it also makes a nice blanket in a pinch, as long as you’re sure absolutely no one's goin to stumble onto you. But your cape’s missin. That’s definitely not right. You never leave the hive without it, haven’t since you were four. Somethin’s wrong.

                You lift up your shirt, just to be certain you’re not imaginin things. Nothin there. You prod at your stomach a little, but it’s all in one solid piece. This isn’t right. You pull out your palmhusk again an send Kan a few more messages that are maybe startin to show a little a the strain you're fuckin under. Why isn’t anyone online? The memory a the chainsaw is too real. You pull up your shirt again, just to check. Daymares are supposed to fade after you’ve been awake for a bit, no matter how bad they are. You killed Kan and then she killed you. It was so real. You must have imagined it. You must have. As you watch, a violet line blooms across your stomach and your torso slips sideways with a sickening lurch.

**== > Nepeta: Wake up**

                You do not want to wake up. You remember perfectly well what happened right before this, and you do not want to wake up ever again. Efur again. And purrfectly well. Befur this. Cat puns are much better than thinking. Than thinking about anything. There are certain things you are carefully _not_ thinking about, but you cannot say what they are because that would mean thinking about them! AC is an extremely clever feline and cannot be tricked so easily. You think you will think about silly cat things instead. Forever. Forefur and efur. This is a difficult plan, as the pain makes it hard to concentrate on anything for long. But maybe if it hurts enough you’ll pass out again, and that is much better than being awake.

                Once or twice you make the mistake of trying to move, but it hurts too much to do it again. Breathing is enough trouble on its own, and every time you inhale, your chest aches. You are very, very careful not to open your eyes. More than anything else, you do not want to see the person lying on the floor with you, but! You are not thinking about him anyways, so it does not matter that you will not look at him. No, you are just here, thinking cat thoughts. In your spare time you are also being most vexed that Gamzee didn’t finish _this_ job right and you’re still here, but everything hurts too much to be properly angry or sad right now. Propurrly. It’s hard to remember the puns when you hurt all over like this. Mostly you just wish you could go to sleep again.

                When you do start to drift away, you dream that maybe you were wrong, and you made your furrocious attack in time and Gamzee didn’t quite finish killing either of you and everything will be all right. Instead of being dead on the floor, he’s just unconscious like you, but he’s so, hee, e%ceptionally STRONG that he’ll be just fine with a little help from a loving cat mother who happens to be caring for a litter of kittens nearby. You hear him walking around now, stepping cautiously around you, and maybe you wanted to sleep before, but you want to be awake _now_ , and as you open your eyes already smiling and doing your best to reach out for him.

                “Equius—“

                “Sorry to fuckin disappoint.”

                You hiss at him in shock and do your best to pull back, but the pain hits you in an awful wave and all you can do is lay there and gasp for air and try to snarl at him. Eridan does not pay you one bit of attention. He steps in much too close and reaches for your arm, but the furrocious huntress manages to fight through the pain and take a swipe at the awful troll with her claws. His eyes are all strange and white, but you get the impression that he’s rolling them.

                “Fuck’s sake, Nep. I’m really lookin forward to see how well you fight me off when practically every bone in your body is broke. I’m trying to _help_ , you idiot. What, did Eq try to give you a hug or somethin?”

                Even if your eyes are shut again and you are trying your hardest not to be sick, you can still bare your teeth at him. As soon as you can move, you are going to show him _exactly_ what you think of that.

                He sighs. “Yeah, okay, that was out a line. Look, though. I need to get at your arm, and I got enough problems a my own without worryin you’ll try to take a chunk out a me.”

                When you can bring yourself to open your eyes again, he’s circling around you, taking slow, stiff steps, and looking you up and down. He looks tired, but also strangely impressed. You hiss at him again, just to make sure he doesn’t get any funny ideas. The huntress is not to be trifled with.

                He throws his arms up in the air, still moving slow and careful. “Fine, then. Do me a favor, though, and tell me exactly what you’re expectin to do on your own? I’m downright astonished you’re even managing to breathe, shape you’re in. Odds are that you have at least one finger left that’s not broken, an that’s about all you can use to fix yourself. I don’t know how you think you’ll pull yourself upright, an then after that I’m not quite seein how you’ll go about tryin to dress a pile a broken bones. Please, enlighten me. Or is your plan just to lay there without ever movin for the rest a fuckin eternity?”

                You don’t manage to make an answer, but you turn your head to the side so you don’t have to look at him anymore. Even that little movement sends pain shooting up and down your body. Before. When you were lying on the ground and passing out for the first time. That was where he’d been. You can’t lift your head to see if the floor is stained blue, but there’s nobody there. Now. Your eyes dart all over, but you aren’t in the lab anymore. You’re in a cave now and Equius had been right there, and he’s _gone_ —

                Eridan is still talking as he gingerly lowers himself to kneel at your side. “No, really, I’m waitin to hear you contribute somethin to this conversation. Why don’t you tell me what to do? Because clearly the one of us who’s been conscious an lucid isn’t the one who should be makin plans. Go ahead, tell me all about field dressin wounds, isn’t like the guy who’s been doin FLARP since he was a wiggler would know anythin about _that_ , go on.”

                You shut your eyes as tight as you can manage because you absolutely refuse to let him see you crying. Your voice is pathetically small as you whisper, “I want my moirail.”

                He actually manages to sound a little sympathetic when he replies. “Well. That’s one thing I can’t fix. As far as I can tell, it’s just you an me in here.”

                “No, _no_. He was there. _Right there_. Gamzee got to him first.” You swallow hard before you can talk again. “He was right there. Even if it’s just his—just his body, I need him _. I need him_.” Your voice is dangerously close to cracking, and you swallow again against a wave of nausea and dizziness.

                “Gam, huh?” He whistles low, and does not sound entirely mocking. “Never would a seen that one comin. Guess this matches what we’ve seen him do with those clubs, though. An I think you’ve got things all backwards. We’re the bodies. Us.”

                You drag your eyes back over to him, and he shifts uncomfortably. “I know _I’m_ proper dead, so it only stands to reason you are too. Wouldn’t be highly likely you’d be alive or conscious with wounds like this. An how else do you explain that we’re back on Alternia? Can’t say for sure, but I’m near certain we’re in your old hive. Haven’t seen anybody but us, even though I know we’re not the only ones as ended up dyin.”

                You stare at him until he sighs and continues. “Well you said Gam got Eq too.” That’s not what he meant, and you know it. He wriggles in place, just a little, before he winces and puts a hand on his stomach. “Fef. Sol, I think. An Kan died at least once, but she came back to life an finished _me_ , so who knows what the hell’s happenin there.” You make absolutely no effort to conceal the disgust on your face. “Hey,” he snaps, “From what you said it sounds like I’m not the only one who made a mistake or two. I didn’t kill any a your quadrants, which puts me one step ahead a Gam.”

                It takes all of your remaining energy to turn your head back away from him, and you stare without really seeing at the far wall of the cave. It isn’t fair. You could have been here with Equius, or at least with any of your other friends, and instead, _Eridan_. Here, in your own hive. And now you’re back home and mom isn’t even around as your sprite anymore, and there’s nobody here for you but Eridan. He’s still talking, and it takes no effort on your part to ignore him and go back to trying to pass out. You think you might be having some success until you feel cold, clammy hands on your arm, and everything _shifts_ with a wrench of pain.

                You scream and try to jolt upright, but he’s already leaning on your shoulders, holding you down against the ground. You writhe and do your best to bite him.

                “Fuckin hell, Nep, didn’t you hear a word I just said?? Look at your coddamn arm, I didn’t even finish settin it. Didn't you see how bad it was before?”

                You have absolutely no intention of ever stopping trying to bite him, but you simply do not have the energy to keep this up. You slump backward against the ground gasping for air while furiously blinking tears away from your eyes. Everything he says sounds muffled, like you’re hearing it through ears stuffed with wool. You finally manage to understand that he isn’t going to leave you alone and snarl at him again, but even the simple act of moving your face makes you want to sob from the pain. You have to concede, that yes, your arm has a bend in it that shouldn’t be there, but you’d much rather he never touched you again and you dealt with it _yourself_ , thank you very much.

                He ignores you and sets it, of course. He ignores everything you try to say. He moves across your body, splinting and bandaging like he’s a fleet mediculler. Partway through, when he notices how badly the pain is getting to you, he sighs and pauses to give you an injection of something that burns at first, than makes you pleasantly numb. As he works, you reluctantly have to admit that the amount of medical supplies in his sylladex is impressive.

                He sniffs, “Well a course. I been all alone on my planet fightin off hordes a angels without anyone to so much as give me the time a night. Have to be ready to help yourshellf when you’re all alone in the world like that.”

                The pain is almost tolerable until he makes you sit up. Then the room swims again and you’re crying in front of him and you hate it and you hate him and you hate everything _ever_. He bandages your ribs fairly quickly, but he doesn’t let you lie back down again and you want to kill him. You’re definitely going to do it, as soon as you can make your body listen to you. He stands, carefully, and pulls you upright after him, and then the nausea is just too much to take and you _are_ messily sick. He makes a face and sighs like you did that to him on purpose.

                “Come on, let’s get you to your ‘coon. You need rest an sopor. Don’t put too much weight on your legs. As a simple landdweller, I don’t expect you’ve got the necessary knowledge as to be comprehendin the extent a seadweller strength, but let’s go. Lean on me.”

                You bare your teeth at him again, and say something to the effect of him not being as STRONG as he thinks he is, and he just sighs again and pulls you off across the cave. You’re crying weakly again by the time you make it to your recuperacoon, and this is too pale and you want your _moirail_ , and everything hurts so much that you let him boost you up and over the edge. The sopor feels so good and numbs you all over, but you don’t want to sleep with _him_ still in your hive. You manage to push yourself over to the side and glare at him over the lip. He’s fiddling with bandages under his shirt that are stained violet all over, and whatever it was Kanaya did to him, you wish she was dead and here so she could do it even more.

                He looks up when he notices you watching. “Hell, Nep, get some _sleep_. Bones need time to knit. You aren’t doin any good sittin there watchin me. Isn’t as though you could stop me doin anythin I wanted, state you’re in. Hey, where’s your fridge at?”

                It is almost a grin, except you are being sure to show _all_ of your teeth. “AC does not have a fridge, she has a _thermal hull_. And she thinks that any troll so stupid that he can’t find it on his own deserves to starve to death.”

                Your words are perhaps slurring a little by the end as the sopor gets to you, and the effort of talking makes your face hurt, but you don’t regret it. Maybe if you are unpleasant enough, he’ll leave. He ignores you, or at least pretends to, and as you let go of the side of the recuperacoon and sink down into the slime, you can imagine your moirail is here, and he’s the one taking care of and helping you through this. This is the kind of f001ishness he has warned you about time and time again. Even with his e%quisite STRENGTH he can’t always be around to protect you, and he worries. You’re just teasing him that he’s the one who makes the furrocious huntress worry about _her_ meowrail when you finally fall asleep.

                When you wake up again, it is to find Eridan Ampora leaning on the edge of your recuperacoon and watching you. You hiss and take a swipe at his face, because why can’t he stay in his _own_ part of the meteor before you remember where you are and what has happened, and the pain washes over you in a wave. You curl forward around your splinted arm and inch toward the back of your recuperacoon, where he can’t reach you. You put on the fiercest threat display you can manage, but Eridan just keeps leaning on _your_ recuperacoon and isn’t acting at all threatened and he won’t stop _staring_ at you. You want him to _leave_ , you want your mom, you want to have your hive to yourself, and you want _Equius_.

                “Now that is downright interestin.”

                You absolutely do not care about hearing anything he finds interesting! You are as uninterested in this interesting thing as it is possible to be. If he would just move, you could get out of the sopor and hide in one of the nooks and crannies in your hive that an appawllingly awful hunter like Eridan could never find. You’re eyeing the narrow space between his shoulder and the wall of your recuperacoon and wondering if you might wriggle through before he realized and caught you, but the sudden rush of pain in your legs and chest makes you think better of it. If it is this bad in sopor, you are purrhaps not entirely certain you can stand up on your own.

                “Did you see that? Nep?”

                You bare your teeth at him _most_ furrociously. All you are seeing is an intruder in your hive without the common decency to leave and let you get better on your own. And if there is something he wants you to see, you are very determined not to look at it.

                “It took a moment for your body to catch up with you. Here I was, all thinkin I wasted my time an supplies on you for nothing, but a few seconds after you woke up, all the wounds came back.” He looks at you excitedly, but your face is completely blank and he sighs. “While you were sleepin. All the broken bones an bruises an all went away. You looked completely fine. But right after you woke up, there it was again, back to bein lucky to even be breathin.”

                “Even the feline huntress knows better than the stupid seatroll that it’s pronounced ‘even,’ not ‘ewen.’”

                “Nice, Nep. Real nice. This is some fantastic gratitude for savin your life. Real fuckin hemoclassist is what this is.”

                “AC has no idea what the ugly seatroll could be talking about.”

                “Yeah, well everyone in the room except AC has mastered the use a the word ‘I’.’’ He steps away from your recuperacoon and starts pacing about the cave. “When I woke up at first I didn’t think the dyin part was real, an none of the damage showed up until I recalled what happened. Your wounds an all healed up while you were sleepin, _an_ it took them a minute to come back when you woke up. So there must be some way to get them to go away. Obviously, I couldn’t tell what happened when I was sleepin, but since I was gracious enough to let you have all the sopor, I had plenty a daymares, so I was a little distracted to tell whether I healed up too.”

                Hee. Obwwwwiously. Now that you have some space you’re at the edge of your recuperacoon, eyeing the dark places at the back of your cave and tentatively testing how well your legs take your weight. _Ow_. It turns out that they do not take it at all. You are so desperate to escape Eridan that you’re considering crawling for safety, but he turns around and pins you with a glare.

                “Not sure how fuckin stupid you think I am, but I bet you can’t even get yourself out a there without help. Go on, try. I can wait. Not like it’ll be the challenge a my life catchin up with a crippled lowblood makin a run for it. An sure, not like I was talkin about things as would help us both out. Must be cause I’m so fuckin stupid I just didn’t see you wanted to spend the rest a your afterlife as a mess a broken bones.”

                You were certainly planning no foolish escape of the sort, and shift smoothly into grooming your hair back from your face. You are far too busy to pay attention to this intruder in your hive or listen to the silly things he talks to himself about. And you are _far_ too dignified to give him any sort of reply.

                “Fuckin hell, Nep. I’m tryin to work out how to make us _both_ better.”

                You do not bother to even look at him as you work through the tangles in your hair. It makes your fingers ache, but it is more important right now to look entirely unconcerned. “AC has no idea what Mister Ampurra could be talking about. She is purrfectly content to get better on her own and Mister Ampurra should just leave and find his own hive. What did Kanaya even do to Mister Ampurra anyways, if he’s too weak to fix it without help?”

                “Yeah, real classy, there. I extend the olive branch a friendship an you throw it in my face.” He pulls up his shirt and steps to show you the stained bandages. “For your information, Kan used her chainsaw to cut Mister _Ampora_ in half.”

                At that you stop pretending not to pay attention. You’ve never seen anything like that with a troll _or_ animal before. You reach out for the bandages to take a closer look and manage to snag one with your claw before he jerks back.

                “ _Shit_ , Nep, what do you think you’re doin? Took me fuckin ages to put myself back together in the first place, I’m not lettin you unwrap me just for kicks.”

                You shrug theatrically, returning to grooming your hair. “If Mister Ampurra won’t let AC see, then she has no reason to believe his silly story.”

                “Tell you what, you heal up enough that you can help me work out a more permanent solution, an I’ll let you look all you want.”

                “More purrmanent?”

                He gestures at his stomach. “I can wrap it up all I want, but that’s not goin to hold me together if anythin happens. I can’t even bend over proper without feelin like the top a me’s about to fall off. Isn’t like you where I can maybe expect you to get better on your own. Can’t slap two bits a troll back together and expect it to just heal.”

                You sniff. “AC is afraid that she is quite content to get better without any assistance, so the poor weak seatroll will have to do the same. If he knows what is good for him, he will leave AC’s hive before she is strong enough to teach him a lesson.”

                “Yeah, right. I leave an you’re never getting out of that sopor, I bet. You’ve got a broken arm and two legs. Never mind the ribs, fingers, toes, collarbone, pelvis, nose, cheekbone, the fractures that I couldn’t spot, an all the other bits that just got pulped without breakin bone.” Your hand shoots to your aching cheek and he groans and catches it before it gets there. “Don’t fuckin _touch_ it! All you’ll do is mess it up worse. Your nose is a bit crooked, though. If you promise _not to fuckin bite me_ , I’ll straighten it out for you.”

                You pause. You don’t want to let him touch you. “AC wants to see how crooked it is, furst.”

He takes a mirror out of his sylladex with a flourish and holds it up in front of you. _Oh_. Even with the sopor slime making a mess of everything… you look awful. Your face is made almost entirely of bruises, and beneath the pain of everything you hadn’t even noticed you were missing a few teeth. Your cheekbone is nearly black from the bruising and that eye is swollen half shut. Your nose is more than a _bit_ crooked, and suddenly you become painfully aware that you can’t smell anything and even trying to breathe through it hurts. You try to curl into a ball until your ribs give a warning twinge. “…AC supposes she will allow it.”

You are braced for the pain, but when he reaches out with both hands and touches your face, you still can’t help hissing. He pushes toward the center, and you can feel cartilage shift as he drags his fingers from the bridge to the tip. “See, gesture a good faith. Fixin up your face too, not just the bits you need to function.” You can’t find the words for a reply. He pulls back to look critically at his work, then reaches out again. You want him to stop touching your face. Only _Equius_ is allowed to touch your face. When he’s finally done and pulls back, you glare and have to blink furiously to hold back tears. Purrhaps you messed up last night, but you absolutely refuse to cry in front of him again.

                He sighs, wiping his hands on a towel that comes from _your_ ablution block. “Come on, what can I do to get you to trust me? You’re in no position to take care a yourself right now, so I’m stuck takin care a you until you get better.”

                 “AC thinks you have done more than enough, and she would like you to go find someone _else_ to help her.”

                 “There _is_ no one else, Nep,” he snaps. “Do you think I’d be stayin here if I had a choice? I can get maybe… a mile from your hive in any direction before the world just stops. There’s nothin else. I looked awful hard for other trolls and there’s _nobody there_. I’m goin to look _again_ tonight, because trust me, I don’t like bein stuck here with you any more than you like bein stuck with me. Cod knows, I’d trade you for Fef in a flash.”

                 You glare at him as hard as you can. “ _Nobody_ likes fish puns.”

                 “One pun, one fuckin fish pun and you come out with that? Miss ‘furrocious hunter’ who’s ‘purrfectly’ happy to keep antagonizing the one fuckin troll around to help her? The troll who can’t seem to sort out first ‘purrson’ pronouns even though that’s wiggler-level schoolfeeding? I’m supposed to fuckin change my speech patterns to ‘amewse’ you, is that what you’re sayin? You’re goin to come up to me all roleplayin and talkin fuckin ass-backwards and tell me that one fuckin _fish pun_ is dumb?”

                 You go right back to ignoring him again and slide over to the back of your recuperacoon. You gingerly reach up to feel the straightened line of your nose.

                 “An don’t fuckin _touch_ that! What, are you goin to listen to me if I talk all in fuckin hoofbeast puns instead? Ooh, Nepeta, I am udderly in diamonds with you! Look at how fuckin STRONG I am, but guess what if I tried to set a broken bone I’d probably just break it worse! Nepeta, it would behoove you to move back before I sweat in your open wounds! Ooh, fiddlesticks, let’s fuckin saddle up for a feelins jam but let me grab some towels first because I’m a fuckin nasty, sweaty piece a work!”

                 You’re crying in earnest before he’s halfway done, and even then he doesn’t _stop_. You put your hands over your ears and imagine Equius instead. He’d tell you that this f001ishness is of no import and that the highb100d is unworthy of your attention anyways. E%ceptional STRONGNESS permitting, he w001d have been more than happy to care for you. Discrepancies in caste notwithstanding, Eridan Ampora is a f001 and unfortunately, as unpleasant a companion as he could have imagined for his meowrail. Purrhaps Equius would have said moirail. But sometimes when he thinks you’re feeling, hee, b100, he’s more willing to use puns that make you smile.

                When Eridan finally stops, he’s short of breath and leaning on the edge of your recuperacoon. You don’t even look at him this time. You trace pictures into the sopor slime with a claw, letting them sink back into nothing and beginning again. Even if you _are_ still crying, you can just purrtend like nothing happened.

                “Okay,” he finally says. “That might a been a bit out a line.”

                The huntress is far too busy to pay attention. Possibly she will never _stop_ being too busy to listen to Eridan Ampora.

                “Look. Nep. I get it. Neither of us wants to be stuck like this. I wish I was with my moirail instead too. I miss her. I get what you’re goin through.”

                “AC thinks that is a _very_ funny thing to say, because everybody knows Mister Ampurra has no moirail. He doesn’t have a single quadrant who cares at _all_ what happens to him.”

                “Whoa, hey—“

                 “In fact, the only reason his _ex_ -moirail could possibly be here is because he _killed_ her. AC isn’t sure what kind of troll could bring themselves to kill someone he was pale for, so probably he is only purrtending he loves her because that is the closest thing he has ever had to a healthy relationship. The fierce huntress finds that terribly sad, because she and her meowrail would never _efur_ consider hurting each other, not in a hundred sweeps. They would rather die first. Purrobably, nobody could efur love a troll who would do an awful thing like that.”

                 “ _Nep—_ “

                 “AC also finds it incredible that Mister Ampurra could have provoked Kanaya into killing him, considering that she is one of the sweetest, most furgiving trolls that AC knows. In all the time that the furrocious huntress has known her, she has been one of the very few trolls that could even tolerate talking to Mister Ampurra. Purrobably, it is lucky that she killed him so that he didn’t have to live for thousands of sweeps without furends, because AC is sure that even _Karkat_ wouldn’t be able to forgive him after what he’s done, never mind Fefurry.”

                 He’s pale and his hands are shaking. “Fuckin _hell_ , leave them out a this!”

                 You examine your claws very carefully, one by one, back to ignoring him. He says a few more choice words and stomps away, out of the cave, and you wait a few minutes before sliding back go your recuperacoon entrance to be sure he’s really gone. Without him there and making you all tense and edgy and miserable, you already feel exhausted again. You are fully intending to get out of the recuperacoon and find somewhere to hide, perhaps see if there is any way to contact your friends, but you are so tired. You can afford a nap, first. Then you’ll take care of things.

                 It’s so restful with him gone and having your hive to yourself again that you sleep longer than you mean to. You wake up with a shock, and you’re paying attention this time to realize your body feels purrfectly fine, and it isn’t until you begin to recall just why you’re dead that the pain blooms out from your ribs to the tips of your claws. You don’t want to admit it, but without Eridan’s splints things would probably hurt even more. When you lean out of your recuperacoon, you can see the grey pre-dawn light reflecting from your hive entrance, but there’s no sign of Eridan. Maybe he is gone for good, but that would be too much to hope for. If he is coming back, purrhaps you have just enough time left to get out and hide yourself.

                 You’re testing your legs again and trying to convince yourself that they’re feeling strong enough to keep you upright when you hear footsteps. Of _course_ he couldn’t just leave. That would just make both of you happy, and when has Eridan ever cared about making himself happy when he has the chance to make someone else miserable? You push back from the edge and lay down in the slime again, your eyes shut and your face carefully relaxed. It does worry you that everything hurts this much, even in the sopor. Do you have drugs for pain? Or was the huntress too proud to stock her den with medicine? Your mom always just pinned you down and licked you until whatever cuts and bruises you had stopped hurting, and until now, nothing had ever happened to convince you there might be better ways to treat wounds.

                 Eridan walks straight to your recuperacoon, but you are fast asleep and do not react in any way! He sighs. “Hell, Nep. I can see your nose from here. If it’s broken, you’re not asleep, simple as that.”

                 The furrocious huntress may scowl to herself, but she does not show any outward sign of weakness to the ugly seatroll. No, she is simply trying to nap and the stupid troll is disturbing her slumber. There is no reason to reply to him because there is nothing he has said that is worth hearing. After a minute of silence, he sighs again and walks away. You wait until it sounds like he is gone and move again to the recuperacoon entrance. Even if you can’t stand, you can crawl somewhere. He’s probably missed the little tunnel behind your ablution block, and he is much too large and clumsy to wriggle through there, and on the other side it opens into a pocket cavern with a pile of the _softest_ , cutest furs you’ve collected in sweeps of hunting.

                 You haul yourself up onto the lip of your recuperacoon using mostly your good arm, and pause once you’re sitting on the edge to shut your eyes and deal with a wave of dizziness. Even though there’s still sopor on you, just moving out of the slime is making too much of a difference in the pain. It won’t be easy to get halfway across your hive, but you are strong enough to manage! Your legs won’t respond enough to move them over the edge yourself, but you grab them one by one and haul them over the lip to dangle towards the floor. It isn’t a large jump, but you don’t think your legs can take it. You try to use your arms to lower yourself gingerly down, but that sends a jolt of pain through your collarbone and you go crashing onto the ground. You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood, but you manage not to make any noise yourself. One of your legs is pinned under your body, and it hurts so much that your vision is blurring, but if you can move that—

                 Suddenly you are distracted by slow clapping coming from behind you, between your recuperacoon and the wall. You hiss at him as hard as you can as he walks out and slowly circles you, but you keep having to stop to gasp for air. You think you might pass out.

                 “Was wonderin how long it’d take you to try somethin like that. Got to say, though, it wasn’t too well thought out. You’re goin to leave a nice slime trail wherever you crawl off to. I say crawl, because there’s no fuckin way you can walk. Even crawlin is probably a stretch at this point. I’d say that it’ll be so easy to track the furrocious fuckin huntress that even a shut-in nerd like Sol could manage it. An I’m guessin you’ll be so slow even Tav could keep up.” He waves vaguely. “Go on, make a run for it. I won’t be stoppin you. I’m just curious to see how long it takes for you to lose consciousness entirely.”

                 You know it’s what he wants, but since he’s trying to make you move, you resolve to stay _right_ where you are. You make a shaky attempt to groom your hair again, but your vision swims so badly when you try to move your arm that you give it up right away. He actually nudges you with a toe, and you manage a halfhearted snarl. “AC wants to be put back in the recuperacoon.”

                 “Well, AC finally says somethin that makes a little fuckin sense.” He does step around you carefully, looking for the best angle to lift you from before he finally kneels, still stiff. You debate punching him in the gut, right in the bandages, but you just hurt too much to move right now. Maybe later. “I swear, Nep, if you bite me, I will drop you right back down and never fuckin help you again.”

                 You sniff disdainfully, but it turns into a disgraceful little whimper as he finally starts to pick you up. Even if he is being careful, he is a clumsy, stupid, ugly troll and perhaps it hurt less to lay on the ground than to let him try to help. He puts your good arm around his neck and you hold on as best as you can while he straightens your leg, gets his arms under you, and finally stands. You can’t help crying out a little when one of your broken feet hits the side of the recuperacoon, and he’s cursing softly to himself by the time he finally gets you settled back in the sopor. He checks your splints and tightens a few of the bandages before he finally backs away and starts to wipe the slime off.

                 You wait until he is finished cleaning himself before you say, “I need to use the load gaper.”

                 The way he goggles at you would make you laugh if you weren’t still feeling so dizzy. “You’re kiddin. Please tell me you’re kiddin.”

                 You just stare at him until he groans. “Fine. Fuckin _fine_. Real wiggler move there, Nep. Really appreciate it.”

                 He directs you to spin around so that he can lift you out again without hitting your feet. It’s a contrast you don’t like, letting the wrong troll carry you. It’s not the same feeling of being effortlessly held, an insignificant weight, safe in big STRONG arms. Eridan Ampora is thin and clumsy, and he’s fighting for breath by the time he manages to stumble through your hive and put you carefully down on the load gaper. He immediately backs away to look at himself in the mirror.

                 “Fantastic. This was an expensive shirt, you know. It’s never quite the same even after you wash the sopor out.”

                 You ignore him because you are busy uncertainly regarding your underwear. He sees where you’re looking and immediately backs toward the door, waving his hands.

                 “No, _no_. Nope. Absolutely not. I have a few fuckin limits and this is as far as this mess goes. That’s a problem you get to solve yourself. I’ll be waitin out in the hall, call when you need me.”

                 You roll your eyes in a _most_ expressive manner as he blunders backward and shuts the door. It turns out that even without standing, it is still possible to tug your underwear down with a few of your fingers that hurt the least. You do your business, flush the gaper, and pull your underwear back into place again. Then you call him back. You do not purrticularly want a shower, but it seems worth it to make him uncomfortable, so next you tell him to help you with the ablution trap.

                 Unfortunately, the ugly seatroll remains unflustered! He shakes his head at you. “Not now. If you really want to get clean, you’d need to take off all the splints, an that isn’t an option yet. Besides, you’re just goin back in the ‘coon, and there’s no real point in cleanin off sopor just so you can dive straight back in. Plus, I’m not dealin with how much it’ll hurt once the sopor you’ve got on you washes off.”

                 You scowl most furrociously at him before you relent, but in the end you agree that he can carry you back to the recuperacoon. The more you are awake, the more you become aware that you are terribly hungry, and you realize that you haven’t eaten anything in at least two nights. You demand food in the most obnoxious way you can manage, and he shrugs and agrees to go look for something in the fridge, completely ignoring you when you correct him to _thermal hull_.

                 “Isn’t like you’ve got many options. Meat, meat, an more meat. Worst selection a food I’ve ever seen in a hive.”

                 “There’s a piece of chocolate grubloaf I’ve been saving. Get me that.”

                 He shifts uncomfortably. “Well. There _was_ chocolate grubloaf.”

                 Your growl is maybe less threatening than you would hope because you are terribly tired after your trip to the ablution block and the only thing keeping you awake is the increasing urgency of your hunger. “Then get me _meat_.”

                 He takes absolutely _furever_ , and you are all set to be angry and yell at him the moment he shows his face again, but you barely begin talking before you see that he took the time to cut the meat into tiny, bite-sized pieces. You swallow the rest of your rant, and pretend like you were never planning to say anything. You reach for the plate yourself as soon as he gets close, but he pulls it back.

                 “Oh, no. Nope. You are covered in sopor, and we both know full fuckin well what eatin sopor does to a troll. I’ll be takin care a this.”

                 You gape at him for a moment in disbelief as he picks up a piece of meat and holds it out to you. “That,” you manage, “Is _disgustingly_ pale.”

                 He blushes bright violet but doesn’t move his hand. “Tell me if you have a better idea. Unless you want to be the second coming a Gamzee Makara, this seems like the best option.” You still hang back and finally he adds, “I looked for somethin civilized like a _fork_ , but your kitchen seems to be lackin some basic necessities.

                 You blush a bit, because even if you understand most of how normal trolls live, it’s always embarrassing when some silly detail comes along like this and knocks you off balance. You mutter, “A furrocious huntress doesn’t need a food preparation block. She hunts her prey and eats it as she pleases. She wouldn’t even have a thermal hull if her meowrail wasn’t worried about meat going bad in the warm season.”

                 You’re expecting him to refuse to drop it because trolls always make fun of you when you don’t fit in right, but he just shrugs and says, “Fair enough,” and holds the meat out again. It’s still too pale, and you’re so very uncomfortable with the situation, but you have a moirail and he at least wishes he had his moirail, and even if this looks pale, it’s just necessary. You inch only close enough to take it from his hand with the tips of your teeth. As wrong as it seems, it feels so good to eat, and you barely stop to chew before you’re demanding another.

                 He sighs, but his words don’t have any heat to them. “Fuckin hell, Nep, you’re goin to choke if you bolt it like that.” Every time one of you misjudges the distance and his fingers brush against your face, you hiss and pull back, but he doesn’t have the decency to act the slightest bit scared of your might. And you are simply too hungry to keep up the threat display when you can see the meat _right there_.

                 He’s the one that finally cuts you off even though you order him to get you more meat. “I’m not goin to stuff you sick and have to take care a _that_ too.” You would argue, but you were already exhausted and now there’s the comfortable weight of food in your stomach, and it’s much easier to close your eyes and let yourself drift off to sleep again.

                The two of you fall into a lazy routine, and you’re almost certain that you spend even more of your time asleep than your mom used to. Eridan continues to explore your little piece of Alternia while you rest, and he tells you that it’s small enough to cross from end to end in just over an hour, and there’s no sign of other trolls in any direction. He says that when he sits long enough and looks out past the edge of the land, he can sometimes see other trolls float past in the distance. He even tells you that once or twice he’s seen the funny pink humans go by, but you laugh at him and tell him that would be silly, because they are in a whole other universe! He says that once the two of you are better, you can try to leave, too. Sometimes during the day, you dream about discovering a piece of Alternia with your moirail’s hive, and finding Equius in there, healthy and whole.

                You heal slowly, and it is beyond frustrating to wake up every day, recall that you are dead, and to feel the fractures slip into your bones as you remember just how you died. Your nose is healed enough that Eridan stops yelling at you whenever you touch it. Your right cheekbone doesn’t quite match your left anymore, but you never cared very much about silly things like that. Most of the bruises have faded to a pale olive-y yellow, and the little splints have come off your fingers. Your ribs still ache, and your legs and feet hurt enough that you can’t bear to stand on your own for more than a few seconds. Eridan bullies you into doing silly exercises to ‘maintain range a motion,’ and you have so little to occupy your time that you do them—on the condition that you are allowed to be a furrocious feline and he is a tiny little squeakbeast trying to escape becoming dinner.

                He has daymares, and now that you are feeling better, sometimes he is loud enough to wake you up even through the sopor. You tentatively offer to let him use your recuperacoon sometimes while you use the pile, but he always snaps at you that it’s important to keep the stress off your bones while they heal. He stains the pile violet, and you carefully never mention how often he washes the pillows and snuggleplanes, or how the blood never quite comes out. He thinks you don’t notice that he’s staying up during the day making you a pair of rough crutches, and you are gracious enough to act surprised when he gives them to you. After a while, he agrees to help you through the ablution trap and lets you spend an hour at a time in his pile, playing on a husktop until you get too tired and he carries you back to the recuperacoon. He never stops complaining that you get sopor on his clothes.

                One day you wake up after you’ve only just fallen asleep, and you’re so tired and disoriented that for a moment, you can’t tell what woke you up. You hear the little muffled noise again, though, and silently, the stealthy huntress slips to the edge of her recuperacoon and leans out into the room. You can’t see Eridan, but the sounds seem to be coming from your ablution block. You lift yourself out of the slime and onto the edge of your recuperacoon, reaching out to grab your crutches before sneaking across your hive.

                 Eridan is laying in your ablution trap, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him without the bandages around his waist. He really is in two pieces. He has his two halves lined up (mostly), and he’s holding a needle and thread, and there’s a row of lopsided stitches running across half his stomach. His hands are shaking so badly he drops the needle as you watch him, and when he finally notices you, his eyes don’t quite manage to focus.

                 “Fuckin pathetic, isn’t it?”

                 You would not want to admit it out loud, but the sight does shake you. His top half doesn’t quite line up with his bottom, and for all you’ve killed and dressed hundreds of animals, it is a little different when it’s a troll you know and he’s talking to you and he’s so pale and shaking all over. You carefully lower yourself to sit beside him, ignoring the twinge in your ribs and making sure that no hint shows on your face of how uneasy it makes you to see his insides pulsing right there while he watches you for any hint of a reaction. You reach out and gingerly touch the thread, and his gills flutter above your hand.

                 “AC thinks that purrhaps Eridan’s stitches won’t hold together when he stands up,” you venture.

                 He groans and lets his head drop back. “A course they won’t. I thought a that before. I was planning to go around a few times to reinforce it, but I don’t know if I can manage.”

                 “The fierce huntress is also a doting mother and has cared for many litters of kittens, even injured ones, and they _always_ get better with her watching them.”

                 “Yeah, well does the fierce huntress have any experience in sewin? Because that’s more important than bein able to lick a coddamn kitten.”

                 “Of course she does, or she wouldn’t have offered. I didn’t get to see Equius often, but when I did I’d always fix up clothing he accidentally tore.”

                 “So, most a his clothes.”

                 You shrug and smile. “It was something to do while he played with his robots.”

                 He waves a hand weakly at you and half grins. “Then be my guest. I think anythin would be a damn sight better than I’ve been managin.”

                 He shuts his eyes and breathes shallowly while you examine his stitches. They’ll have to come out, you think. You could work around them if you had to, but it’ll be much cleaner to take them out and start over. Besides, and you giggle to yourself a little at the thought, if you left it this way, his top and bottom would never quite line up right.

                 You pop the stitches one by one with your claws and pull out the short sections of thread. Eridan grumbles at you about wastin his hours a fuckin hard work, but you are far too focused on this problem to listen! If you did stitches close to the cut and more further away from it, it would be more secure. But then if he bends in any direction, the stitches on the far side will pull and hurt. No, it’s better to stay in close, but a single row of stitches won’t be strong enough to hold him together. You begin to thread the needle again, but you add a second strand of thread. Then a third for good measure. You tell Eridan that his stitches will be e%quisitely STRONG and laugh when he groans and asks if he should get you a towel.

                 He’s relaxed a bit while you were preparing to begin, but the moment the needle presses against his skin, he tenses up again. You ask, “Does it hurt?” In retrospect, that is purrhaps a silly question.

                 “A course it fuckin hurts,” he snaps. “You’re right below my gills. That’s about the most sensitive fuckin place on my whole body. Stitch my nook shut instead, why don’t you?”

                 “Well, if you insist!” You reach for the waistband of his pants, and then let him scrabble for your hands and fall over himself telling you _not_ to do anythin of the fuckin sort. Once you let him catch your hands and he realizes you were only joking, he manages to smile a little, but he’s still breathing hard and his face is much too pale, and you take a little pity on him.

                 “I’ll go quickly,” you promise. “AC is the swiftest feline ever seen on all of Alternia. I’ve got three threads in the needle, see? And that should be strong enough that I only need to go around once. If I start beneath your gills, that’ll be half of the worst part done, right away. You can ask for a break anytime.”

                 “Felines don’t fuckin sew,” he mutters, but he lets go of your hands which is probably as close to agreement as you can expect. You make your stitches deep so there’s less danger that they’ll tear out, and he flinches and shivers, and every few minutes you pause for breath. You are sure it is worse for him, but it is not easy being the one doing this to another troll. Your stitches are tight and even, and even though you sew quickly, you make sure to place them close together so no important parts have space to slip out. When you take a break halfway across his stomach and look up at his face, he’s crying.

                 “Eridan?”

                 “I want my moirail,” he whispers.

                 You don’t know exactly what to say to that, so you look back down at his stomach, and after a moment you go back to your work. Apparently, it hurts _very_ badly. Every few stitches you stop to hold his hand, and he clings so tightly that it makes your fingers ache. When you reach the leading edge of his other set of gills, he pulls his hand away and presses it to his face, and you can hear his breath coming too fast.

                 “Eridan?” He doesn’t answer you this time, and you pull his hands away and hold them in your own. His eyes are squeezed shut, and there are violet tracks running down his cheeks. “I want my meowrail too.” When you put your hand against his cheek he shudders all over and turns his face into your hand, sobbing openly.

                 “Shhhh.” You brush the hair back from his face and soothe him until he wrenches himself back under control, his eyes still tightly shut and his hands on your wrists like you anchor him. “I bet that if Fefurry was here, she’d sit right there with your head in her lap, and pet your silly face the whole time I stitched you up. In fact, AC thinks that you wouldn’t even notice the stitching with Fefurry right there to distract you.” He makes a little noise in the back of his throat that you can’t quite make out, but eventually his grip on your wrists loosens and you scoot back down to finish your job.

                 You do your best to move quickly past his gills, but you wouldn’t want to do sloppy work and make it worse for him later. He does his best not to react, but still have to stop every few seconds to hold his hand while he shakes. Once you’ve gone as far as you can, you are confronted with the problem of how to turn him over. To cover your confusion, you joke a little about how you can just stop here, he’s just never allowed to bend forward again ever or he’ll fold like a hinge, and he manages a startled, damp laugh.

                 In the end, you have to lift him from one edge and just roll him over, one hand on each half doing your best to keep them even, and trusting your stitches to hold together while you get him resettled. He bangs a horn against the edge of your ablution trap and curses loudly as you turn him onto his stomach, and once he’s in place, you move again to sit next to his head, and pet his hair while he buries his face in his arms. Once you are fairly sure he’s stopped crying, you go back to sewing him up. It isn’t good, but it’s easier than his stomach, especially since you can’t see his reactions so clearly. You still take your time, moving up to pet his hair and talk about silly things every so often, but it’s not too long before you’re reaching the beginning of your stitches again.

                 This part is still tricky because even if your stitches are _done_ , you still have to pull them tight, or his top half will just flop over the first time he tries to stand up. It doesn’t seem to hurt as much as making the stitches did in the first place, so once you’ve gotten his back all secure, you roll him over again and finish his stomach. He watches this part, and you are careful not to mention the way his eyes are all swollen and puffy, or the dark circles under them. Once your stitches are done and you’ve poked at a few places to make sure they feel strong enough, you tie the thread off (and finish with a cute little bow, because bows are purrfectly adorable).

                 You have to help him upright the first time. He still bends gingerly, as if he expects to fall apart at the first sudden movement, but you watch your stitches carefully and you are extremely sure they are secure! A little bit of violet still seeps through, but it is certainly much less than there has been with just the bandages. As he steps out of the trap, you notice that you are both covered with a great deal of blood, and the floor of your trap appears to be entirely violet now, and you haul him back in to rinse off. Once you’re satisfied that he isn’t about to track blood all over your hive, you let him out.

                 The first thing he does is go to your mirror, of course, and he spins in a slow circle, his eyes on your stitches. As you finish washing off and step out of the trap, his eyes flicker to you and then back to his stitches. His face is practically glowing. He feels at them tentatively, then pushes at them a bit harder as they hold successfully.  He spins again, craning his head over his shoulder to look at his back and reaching to feel the line of thread.

                 He clears his throat. “They’re a bit utilitarian, a course, but that shouldn’t matter _too_ much since they’ll be beneath my shirt. And gettin them done was unpleasant enough to begin with that redoin anythin isn’t really an option—“

                 You reach up and lightly punch his shoulder. “AC _thinks_ you mean ‘thank you.’”

                 He looks terribly offended. “A course! That’s what I said!”

                 You just roll your eyes at him and wander out of the ablution block back towards your recuperacoon. You were tired even before he woke you up, and now you are pawsitively _exhausted_. Eridan stays behind for a while longer, probably admiring his stitches some more, and you’re relaxing in the sopor again and lazily watching as he begins to arrange his pile for the day.

                 You snort as he wraps the largest snuggleplane tightly around his shoulders and lays down in the mess of pillows. “The fearsome huntress thinks that the silly seatroll used to do that with his ridiculous purrple cape.”

                 He gapes at you for a moment with such shock that you are absolutely one hundred percent sure you were right before pulling himself up and sniffing, “No call a mine what you want to dream up. The cape is an extremely intimidatin piece a clothin, but I can see that you just don’t understand the meanin a true fashion—“

                 “AC also thinks,” you interrupt, “That the silly seatroll would have fewer daymares if he occasionally slept in sopor.”

                 He glares at you from across the room. “No, Nep. We’ve been over this. You need the sopor for now, so I’m fine with the pile. Not that I’ll _object_ if you happen to keep my selfless generosity in mind in future—“

                 “ _Perhaps_ the very patient feline is trying to hint to the _extremely dense_ seatroll that there is enough room in this recuperacoon for _two_.”

                 He pauses, looks down, and then looks up at you again. His voice is a bit small when he asks, “Do you really mean that?”

                 You sigh as loudly as you can. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

                 He’s still hesitant as he steps up to the recuperacoon and boosts himself onto the rim. You move back to make space for him, but even while he lowers himself into the sopor, he’s still acting like you’re about to change your mind and kick him out. Instead you make sure to show him that you are the friendliest, sweetest feline on Alternia and curl up against him, purring, as he settles into the slime. His arm hovers vaguely above your waist until you get tired of waiting for him to make up his mind and pull it into place yourself. His chin fits right between your horns, and as it turns out, you are in the absolute purrfect position to hear his breathing even out and slow as he relaxes into sleep.


End file.
